The day we elected Obama, as I was riding north on my bike, I noticed a woman ahead of me on my left cross a street perpendicular to mine. In a modest and elegant heavy black shawl, draped over her shoulders and across her chest, she walked tall with her very long blond hair flowing behind her. A white van driving in my direction paused before turning west in order to let the woman cross. Assuming the van would continue on its way I rode on.
But as I approached the turning van and the walking woman, that van paused again. This time it faced west. The passenger window rolled down. The woman, her back to the van, kept walking north. A man leaned out.
He called, "Excuse me!" The woman turned to acknowledge the call. She looked, without stopping, without turning completely around, over her left shoulder. Her back was to me and the man continued, "You have some good-looking hair!"
And as she continued on her way, a smile stretched slowly across her face like the fingers of dawn across a Mojave ridge. Her pace never wavered, her stride ever purposeful. But she tucked a lock behind her right ear and said, "Thank you." She was glowing.
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